


Please What

by Parrannnah



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Dom Chris Evans, Established Relationship, Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Other, shield harness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18579442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parrannnah/pseuds/Parrannnah
Summary: It had been a long time since Chris had brought up this particular kink with any sort of intention, beyond discussing likes and dislikes with a new partner, and even then, it was only one he brought up after a significant period of time had passed. He knew, for him specifically, it could be seen as Too Much, and he even agreed most days.But today was not most days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kajmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajmere/gifts).



> Just. I don't know.  
> Blame Twitter.  
> And Endgame managing to destroy all rational thought even before I've seen it. I don't fucking know anymore.

Chris had an itch, right up under his skin and deep in his brain and the worst part was, right now he had no way to scratch it. This itch, this _need_ was special, private.

Intense.

But right now, he _needed_ , and if he couldn’t physically fulfill his desires, he would have to do it mentally. He was laying in his bed, sheets soft and sun-scented from drying on a line outside. He’d had a girlfriend in high school whose mother had always hung sheets up to dry, and he’d found he loved the smell of them, the feel of them, as their softness and scent clung to his skin. When he first bought a house, he indulged the nostalgia and hung a clothesline in the corner of his little patch of land, and even now, all these years later, nothing felt as decadent as sun-dried cotton.

He was hot all over now, hands roaming as he ghosted his fingers over his skin, the short nails scritching through the hair on his body—chest, belly, thighs, beard, everywhere he wished to feel a lovers touch. He started constructing the fantasy in his head, and lost himself to it…

—

It had been a long time since Chris had brought up this particular kink with any sort of intention, beyond discussing likes and dislikes with a new partner, and even then, it was only one he brought up after a significant period of time had passed. He knew, for him specifically, it could be seen as Too Much, and he even agreed most days.

But today was not most days.

See, his partner, well, they were someone special. Someone who had days where they needed it as badly as he did on those days where ‘Sir’ wasn’t enough.

They were on the big leather couch in his living room, what he was privately starting to think of as “their” living room, but he wasn’t quite ready to mention that yet, especially not today when this particular desire was looming large in the forefront of his mind.

They’d been kissing for ages, for eons, his mouth read with it, his beard slick with it. Hands in hair, fingertips in skin, he was tangled up, every inch of him, in their warmth, in their scent, in their passion.

He abandoned his post, mouth trailing down the sweet thin skin of their throat, nipping and biting as he went, maybe a little rougher than normal, maybe testing the waters.

Groans greeted him, the vibrations rumbling through the throat he was currently paying literal lip service to. He kept moving, a smile on his lips as he found collarbones under his lips, his teeth, his tongue. Nibbled and sucked and bit, his lover staring to shiver when he found a particularly sensitive spot.

“Oh,” they said, hands digging into his biceps, fingertips denting the muscle as they gripped hard. “C’mon,” they tried next, cajoling, like that would work any better. Chris bit down, teeth on either side of their collarbone, digging in with the thin edges, tasting the sweat on their skin, making his displeasure, contrived though it was, known as he worried marks into their skin.

“More,” they’d breathe, and Chris could feel himself stiffening, feel his body react to the needy tone of their voice, knew he had them on the edge of where they both wanted to be. He moved to the other side, gnawing his way across the delicate skin, rubbing his spit-slick beard across and leaving redness in his wake.

“Please,” they sighed, at last, the early signs of surrender in their voice. He worked his way back up their throat, dragging teeth and tongue up the path he took, meandering and slow until he had his lips at their ear, the lobe between his teeth, sucking, biting, possessing.

“Please what?” He whispered, voice dark and slow, authority starting to rumble through his veins.

A groan, a sigh, a body rubbing against his own, writing as they figured out the game, or thought they did.

“Please, Sir.”

He chuckled, the sound deep, velvet wrapped around gravel. “I think you mean Captain.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is writing itself, I have no control anymore.
> 
> Unbeta'd cause its completely self indulgent. #Indulgeyoself2k19 and all

While Chris had plenty of kinks, his real thing was Power Exchange. He loved it more than any other aspect of the myriad ways BDSM could be expanded out, and while he enjoyed bondage, had a bit of a sadistic streak, it was that DS in the middle that interested him the most.

Mostly, he was laid back in his dominance, enjoyed the lazy confidence that came to him when he was in a scene, the kind that let him lean back in a chair, shirt off, legs spread obscenely. The button fly on his jeans undone, and nothing on underneath so his  cock, fat and red with arousal, laid heavy against his belly, the little puddle of precome sticking to the hairs there.

He’d lift a hand from the where it was resting on the arm of his chair, beckon his partner forward. “C’mere, sweet thing,” he’d say, watch them slink over on their hands and knees. “Come show me how much you like bein’ on your knees for me, huh?”

He liked making them take it slow, take  _ him _ slow, their lips stretched wide as they slid lower and lower, taking every inch of him with the ease of long practice. He always helped new partners learn to deep throat, if they wanted—he loved how it felt to be buried to the hilt in the tight, wet press of their throat, their nose buried in the thatch of curls at the base of his cock, reveling in the knowledge that every one of their senses was overloaded with  _ him _ .

The Captain, though…

That was a different thing altogether.

He should have expected it, he supposed. He’d spent so long trying to find the nuances and differences between Just Steve Rogers and Steve as Captain America, what little tricks and decisions would be made, what mannerisms adopted, what kind of confidence in his own convictions would be needed, that he found that sometimes he  _ wanted _ to be in that headspace, but as himself, as Chris. He wanted that undeniable and unquestionable authority, the unshakeable belief that His Way was not only The Right Way but The  _ Only _ Way.

When he was the Captain he liked things precise. Controlled. He gave pleasure on his time, and if there was a climax happening, it was happening at his whim and with his permission. The Captain like more protocol, more formality. It was all “Yes, Captain,” and “No, Captain,” and “Please can I come, Captain?”

That last one was his favorite.

His answer was never yes the first time. Or the second, or the fourth, or however many he thought they could take. The Captain was a master edger, and Chris’s stamina was something he was proud of and made frequent use of when the Captain was in charge. 

He liked his partners on their knees always, but the Captain relished in it, the sight of them crawling for him got him hotter than he ever would have expected. He liked them collared or harnessed, like that show of ownership, temporary though it always was. He loved the harnessed more, if he was being honest.

He wore one himself, after all.

He’d gotten it in his head one night while filming, and couldn’t get it out again until he tried it. Managed to walk off the set one day with an extra shield harness, one made to look like leather but not actually leather, and took it to his hotel room.

He stripped out of his clothes and took a hot shower, taking his time soaping himself up. He was thankful there were no shirtless scenes in this film, because he’d been able to keep his body hair, a personal trait that he found erotic in the extreme, especially when he or his lovers would drag their nails across it, scritching and scratching at the roughness.

With only a touch more groping of himself than usual he finished up his shower, stepping out and toweling off. He avoided looking in the mirror, wanting the next time he saw himself to be what he had been imagining all day.

He draped the towel over the bar and walked, naked and damp, back to his room, where he put on his standard Scene clothes: his softest, most loved Levi’s 501’s that fit him like a glove, and had the button fly he loved so much, the top button left undone.

Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out his contraband.

The harness was supple and soft, made for hours of wear. He knew it was going to be a little loose, since he usually wore it over the suit, but he just wanted to see if he liked it as much as he thought he would, enough to get one custom made for wearing over nothing.

He slipped his arms into it and slid the material up and over his shoulders, snugging it up as best he could before rolling his shoulders to settle it and turning to face the mirror.

“Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” he said emphatically, eyes locked on his own reflection.

The harness framed his chest in the most perfect way, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and emphasising the solid contours of his pecs. It looked good against his skin, and he personally thought the dark hair on his chest and belly made it look even sexier.

He could feel himself growing thicker in his jeans, the solid outline of his cock getting more visible by the second as he brought his hands up and traced the edges of where faux-leather met skin. He looked powerful, commanding. He looked like the Captain, and Chris was losing himself in a fantasy, palming himself through the well-worn denim. 

He could imagine strolling into his bedroom at home, maybe that pretty boy from his gym that he’d fooled around with before would be waiting on his knees, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the floor.

The Captain  would walk right up to him, feet bare on the carpet, just letting them come into the field of vision of this delectable treat kneeling for him.

His sweet treat would wait ten seconds before placing his hands on either side of his Captains feet, palms flush with the floor, before leaning down and placing a kiss to the top of each foot, right in the center, sitting up and clasping his hands again when he was finished.

“Good boy,” the Captain would say, a firm believer in giving praise where it was due, and this sweet boy deserved all the praise for showing such respect. “You know the rules, don’t you, pretty? So respectful.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Let me see you, sweet thing.” 

His sweet boy would look up, eyes huge and pupils blown, and he would see the harness, the way it sat and put so much emphasis on his Captains thickly muscled chest, covered in a fuzz of hair, and he would swallow audibly, a shiver running through him. 

The Captain would smile, run his hands over his body, dragging his nails against his skin, cupping his palms around the swell of his chest, hooking his fingers under the harness and  _ pulling _ , squeezing his pecs together with the supple leather straps. “You like this, pretty boy? Hmm?”

“Yes, Captain,” he would say, licking his lips, eyes fastened on the way his Captains hands continued to caress his body.

The Captain would take a few steps backwards, settle himself on the bench at the foot of the bed, legs splayed wide. “Come show me.”

It’s the imagined sight of the lithe, pretty boy on his hands and knees, slinking across the floor at him that does Chris in, standing in his hotel room in Atlanta, hand furiously stroking his cock as he comes all over the mirror in front of him with a shout.

He was panting and sweat, coming down from the high of his orgasm, chest still framed by the harness as it heaved. He smiled at his reflection, giddy and excited.

Yeah. He was keeping the harness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m now on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/KatAtomic2/) Things are weird and wonderful over on Fandom Twitter so come hang out! I’m also still on [Tumblr!](https://kat-atomic.tumblr.com/) so come hang out!  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m now on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/KatAtomic2/) Things are weird and wonderful over on Fandom Twitter so come hang out! I’m also still on [Tumblr!](https://kat-atomic.tumblr.com/) so come hang out!  
> 


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